Perhaps Another Time
by Firing Rockets on Dragons
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, two unlikely comrades had an opportunity to learn more about each other. And while they rarely got along in the past, it finally dawns on them that they will miss each other's company. Hayffie if you squint.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games trilogy or any of its characters

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Haymitch sighed at the memory. It's been a few months since the rebellion ended. Their Mockingjay was badly damaged. Burns and scars tainted her olive skin. But beyond that, her heart was shattered to pieces. The one thing she tried to protect was engulfed in flames, along with the hope of living a normal life after the fact. She was broken, but she was also full of loathing. They weren't surprised when the girl took Alma Coin's life instead of Snow's. It wasn't a moment of insanity. In fact, killing Coin was the closest she'd ever been to being sane. But those who loved Katniss would not allow her to fall from grace. They claimed that she wasn't in the right mind, that she was confused; her judgment clouded by painful memories, and it drove the arrow to pierce the president's heart. They eventually succeeded, and with a few conditions, she was allowed to return to District 12.

His gray eyes followed the movement of the machinery from across the street. Laborers moved about, mixing cement and piling up bricks, some were repairing the damaged roads. Tomorrow, he will leave for District 12 with Katniss and Peeta. He was assigned to care for Katniss, who was broken at best. He should be preparing for the role, but two broken things were never really good at fixing each other, so instead, he sat on a chair in Effie's large apartment, taking a break from helping the woman pack her several possessions. Why she decided to move to a smaller apartment, he didn't know. Effie sat across him, a glass coffee table in their midst, and together, they watched the ruins of the city slowly rise up to its former glory. The steaming cups of coffee went unnoticed.

"Now that it's done, what do you plan on doing?" Effie suddenly asked, her eyes not leaving the scenery her window displayed.

Haymitch snorted and turned to look at the former escort. His gray eyes surveyed her pale face and the blonde curls that fell to her chin. Without her outlandish clothes and make-up, she looked small and fragile, like a pretty porcelain doll.

"Well, my future's pretty set, Effie," he said, "I'm to take care of our Mockingjay while she allows her wings to mend. Of course, couldn't deal wit' that without a little alcohol, now, can I?"

Effie turned to look at the man in front of her. His black hair was peppered with white, the bags under his eyes were dark, and his olive skin had taken a yellowish tint. She thought that years of alcoholism might have already taken a toll on his liver, but she brushed the thought aside. She did not want to think that someone as skilled as a former victor would die of something so pathetic, something self-inflicted.

"From what I've heard, you were sober the whole time in district 13," she stated, hoping that he will reconsider his thoughts about drinking.

"Well, we know how well that turned out," Haymitch replied sarcastically, "I was cooped up in an isolated room. I couldn't stop kicking and punching the walls."

"But you finally adapted to a life without alcohol," Effie countered, "You're much healthier. Why would you revert to your old ways?"

Haymitch shrugged. She was right. His body was easier to work with. He didn't have to drag himself out of bed, and the headache and nausea that once threatened to greet him at mornings were gone, but it really didn't matter because he rarely slept in peace. Nightmares and self-loathing haunted him and chased away any hope for change.

"Sure I'm doin' good," he said, "but the nightmares never disappeared. Come to think of it, they're more vivid. Only the booze can tone it down, sweetheart, and with Katniss being awfully depressing to look at, I'll need to double my dose."

Effie knew that even when he drank, his nightmares persisted. He slept fitfully at night, his screams piercing the quiet corridors of the train, waking her. She always checked on him. She always found him drenched in sweat, his knife clutched tightly on his hand. The only luxury alcohol offered was that he'd forget all about it in the morning.

"It will kill you eventually, Haymitch," Effie said, "You know, you can try a psychiatrist, or a therapist. Maybe it will help you cope with your issues."

"Death's a welcomed visitor," Haymitch said gruffly, "I'll even offer him drinks if he ever comes knockin' on my door. Took him long enough."

Effie pursed her lips, a tell-tale sign that she wasn't pleased. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell Haymitch off for his blatant disregard for his well-being, but she thought about what he'd gone through. If he desperately wished to die, why did he try to live on? Yes, it was a sorry excuse of a life, but he coped with his pain. He carried on. A question burned within her and the words came spilling out of her mouth before she was able to stop herself.

"Is it a form of atonement?"

His shoulders tensed, and his gaze hardened. Atonement. The word played repeatedly in his head, taunting him. Was that what he wanted all along? A tiny, bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"No amount of suffering could atone for my carelessness," he said, "but maybe you're on to something, princess. Maybe that's what I wanted all along. Maybe that's what kept me from using my own weapon against me."

"It wasn't your fault," she said, "Surely there are better things in life to hold on to, rather than your guilt.

"Sure there are," he said, "but I can't exactly afford the luxury of holding on to happy memories. They're too tainted to keep."

He returned his attention to the window. He found that there was nothing interesting to look at, but he kept at it. Feeling Effie's gaze boring holes through him scared him, he didn't want to intensify the feeling by looking back into those blue eyes that used to shine with unspoken optimism.

Those eyes used to irritate him. He couldn't fathom why she was so happy. Her job was to pick out children's names out of a fishbowl and escort them to slaughter. Yet, she wore clothing of bizarre colors and styles that screamed superiority, and plastered on her face was an ignorant smile and layers of make up. She was so phony, with her sickeningly sweet Capitol accent, urging children to rejoice as they near their demise. And those eyes were always too blue, always too bright. Her presence was an insult to grieving families and children. He used to despise her for it, but looking at her now, he couldn't help but miss the shallow, ignorant escort from the rich land of the cruel and self-serving sons of guns. At least she was happy. Now, the light in her eyes had gone, replaced by an unmistakable shade of uncertainty and confusion. He couldn't bear with the thought any longer. He needed to say something, anything, to distract him.

"How about you, Effie," he said, not taking his eyes off the window, "what do you plan on doing? You've had your share of pain. I'm pretty sure you're tryin' to figure out where to go from here."

It was Effie's turn to feel uncomfortable. She squirmed in her seat and took a long sip of her coffee. She would answer him, of course, if only she knew what to say. She planned on moving to a new apartment, thinking that a change of scenery may help her cope, but after that, what would she do?

"I'm sure I'll be able to do something," she said, unable to concoct a plan. "Maybe I'll find a new job, and then I'll buy a whole new wardrobe; clothes that will not make me feel like a Capitol dog. The wigs and the layers of make up are quite ludicrous, to be honest."

Those words elicited a reaction from Haymitch. He stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Never did he expect her to speak against her own taste in clothing. He didn't know it made her feel that way. Effie noticed the expression on his face and she frowned.

"Don't give me that look, you insufferable, ill-mannered lout," she snapped, "I'm not as ignorant as you initially believed. I'm a rebel, too, in case you have forgotten."

He couldn't help but smile. For a moment, he saw the old Effie, nagging him about something as trivial as his manners. He watched as the frown on her face slowly disappeared, only to be replaced by a look of puzzlement. She must have been expecting a cutting remark.

"I haven't forgotten, princess," he started, his voice feigning sarcasm, for old times' sake, "and you were so brave, weren't you, standing up to those Capitol baddies."

She would've yelled at him, or pursed her lips in annoyance, but she could tell that he was only kidding; his uncharacteristically kind smile and the glint of mischief in his eyes were dead giveaways. She chose to laugh instead, covering her mouth the way a lady should. He couldn't help but join her.

"You've changed," Haymitch said after fits of laughter. "Your eyes changed. Do you even realize that?"

Effie was taken aback with his sudden verbalization of observation. But she was quick to respond.

"Something must have finally clicked inside my mind," she said, "Maybe I finally decided to take your advice, what was that again?"

"Shut up and smell that rotting carcass of a nation you call home," they said in unison.

He used to tell her that on a yearly basis, every time her happiness was too much for him to bear. She fumed in anger, he thought it was because she hated it when he cursed and insulted her beloved Capitol. But come to think of it, he wasn't sure about Effie's loyalty to her home. She may have been harboring a secret hatred for it long before the rebellion. Maybe she was just that good of an actress. When Effie let out a bitter laugh, Haymitch looked her in the eye; his charcoal grays meeting her sapphire blue ones.

"You hated me back then," Effie started, "I'm not sure how you feel about me now, but before the rebellion, you hated me and everything I represented. And I don't blame you. I was disgusting."

"Effie, I – " Haymitch began to say, although he didn't really know what he was supposed to tell her, because what she said was true. Perhaps 'hate' was a strong word, but if what he felt towards her wasn't hate, then what was it? Annoyance, dislike, pity? He was fortunate because Effie cut him off.

"I would be lying if I told you I hated the games all my life. I was born and raised in the fallen Capitol, after all. I grew up believing that gathering children for slaughter annually was normal, a glorious tradition that magnified our culture. I couldn't say that I didn't enjoy watching the games as a child. The adrenaline was overwhelming, almost like a drug. It satisfied the barbarians in each and every one of us, without leaving the comforts of our own homes. To us, they were nameless faces, and we felt no concern over those we do not know. As long as we were entertained, it didn't matter."

Haymitch was silent. Effie considered this as a signal to go on.

"Did you think that I would aspire to become an escort if I loathed the games so much?" she asked, her blue eyes growing murkier with every word. "No. I loved the games. But it was different when the tributes have names, when I ate and shared conversations with them. It was different when I stood on that platform, calling out names of those who were set to die, when eyes full of grief and loathing were directed at me. It was different when I finally realized that I would've felt the same, were it me standing amongst the crowd, hoping that a friend of mine, or even my child would be spared. It was different when I saw that the only victor from the downtrodden district assigned to me was broken beyond repair. I felt silly wearing all those garments and make up. And I felt like a monster showing my fangs when I smile, seemingly pleased at the crestfallen faces of your people. It wasn't just me. Others felt that way, too. But we're self-serving people. We wouldn't dare to bite the hand that had graciously fed us. We've very little pride, after all."

"You've done a spectacular job, though," he said, "wouldn't have guessed that it bothered you, at all, sweetheart. Must be tough to suck it up."

Effie paused, studying Haymitch's expression. She wondered if he hated her, or if he was disgusted by her revelations. But he was just slumped on his chair, waiting for her to go on.

"Katniss is a brave girl, isn't she?" She changed the subject and looked at Haymitch who nodded, "Daring to volunteer to take the place of her little sister. She's a spark. She was the perfect poster child for the rebellion, but she was young; far too young, if you ask me. We stole the little childhood she had left."

"Oh, she's a spark, alright," Haymitch replied, "I bet she got your gears turning, Effie. You probably felt so much for her, maybe more than any other tribute you've ever dealt with, that one day, you decided to just screw the Capitol and sneak around with Plutarch, Cinna, and the others."

"She was just a girl," Effie whispered, "I can't help but feel that we've exploited her, asked too much of her."

"But she's a strong girl," Haymitch said. "You believed in her once, princess. Continue to believe in her. She deserves that much from us. She'll rise up eventually, when she feels most ready."

"You think?"

Haymitch gave her a lopsided smile.

"I know," he said, "we both know."

They exchanged genuine smiles. Their eyes spoke volumes; they may not be as radiant as they used to be, before they knew pain, but they shone with newfound hope. And while they knew that they will perpetually suffer nightmares, they felt relieved because future generations will not know their pain.

* * *

He had asked her over supper if she wanted to move to District 12 with the three of them, instead of living alone in a new apartment. She refused his offer. He didn't want to admit it, but over the years of working with Effie, he'd established a semi-functional relationship with her. Yes, it was full of loathing, but despite her many flaws, he'd grown accustomed to her. Now that he managed to take a peek at what goes on inside that head of hers, he found that he will actually miss her. Effie Trinket, the Capitol girl who hid substance under her large, pink wig.

"The offer still stands, Effie," he said as they stood outside the apartment building Effie was about to leave behind.

Effie smiled and shook her head no. She decided to abandon her wigs; her blonde hair was pushed back from her face with a lace head band. However, she continued to wear her old clothes. She chose the simplest of her dresses and shoes. It took a while, because simplicity did not exist in her wardrobe, but she finally settled on a purple designer dress, decorated with slightly puffy sleeves and flowers, and a pair of five-inched pumps of the same color. She will get rid of those clothes as soon as she gets herself another job. A taxicab waited for her to enter, her things already piled inside the trunk.

"Maybe someday, Haymitch," she said, "First, I'll try to regain some balance in my life. Try to re-establish who I am. Perhaps attempt to revive my former self, at least the parts I find desirable."

Haymitch snickered.

"Your former self, huh? Maybe I shouldn't have invited you to my hometown, after all, princess." Haymitch joked, "You'll just barge into my house and yell at me about the amount of liquor I consume. No, I'm not lettin' that happen. I think I'll raise an army of geese to ward you off. You hate geese."

Effie smiled, "I'll be sure to overcome my fear of birds before visiting your disgusting home."

"Yeah, you do that," Haymitch said, "and once you do, remember that my geese await you. I'm one train away, sweetheart."

No more words were exchanged between them. Effie walked towards Haymitch and pulled him into a tight embrace. At first, he did not know how to respond, but soon he found himself returning the warm gesture. It felt like an eternity, no one wanted to let go. While they had no trouble expressing their goodbyes, they found it dreadful to actually release their grip on each other and go their separate ways. Their meeting was an annual tradition; a welcomed interruption from their otherwise mundane and lonely lives. They knew that it was not going to be the same. Next year, she would still be picking up the pieces of her life and rebuilding it, while he really wasn't sure if his liver could wait on her for the years to come. But she trusted that she'll find her way to him, to them, eventually, and he believed that she'll be able to piece herself back together when the time comes. Their faith allowed them to let go. Haymitch received a kiss on the cheek from Effie, and he gave her another lopsided smile and a remark before she rode the cab and left. He watched as she disappeared into the distance before hailing another cab for himself. He wondered if he'd live to see the day of her visit because his lifestyle did not hold promises of longevity. But he'll try. If he failed to meet her, then she'd have to settle for the geese to welcome her. She'll hear him laughing in the afterlife.

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A/N: So that's the end of my first Hunger Games fanfiction. I hope you guys enjoyed.


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